


skyhold barbecue

by Sriracha



Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: April Fools' Day, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sriracha/pseuds/Sriracha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s just,” the Inquisitor mumbles, baffled, to Cullen and Leliana, “what the hell is a ‘barbecue’?”</p><p>The Inquisition has done plenty of strange things to drum up favor, but this might be the strangest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	skyhold barbecue

**Author's Note:**

> based off a dragon age inquisition multiplayer mission that made me cry.
> 
> dedicated to everyone who pulled me down into dragon age hell, and everyone who i pulled down in turn - happy april fool's day, and here's to coleslaw being proven to exist in the dragon age canon.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” says the Inquisitor.

Josephine rests her hands on the war table and leans forward. “With respect, Inquisitor Lavellan, it’s not much different from inviting dignitaries to Skyhold in order to garner support,” she says, excited fervor in her voice. “The only difference is the scale – imagine what a gain of that size could mean for the Inquisition.”

“Do we have the resources?” The Inquisitor sounds strained. Josephine beams, smelling weakness.

“If Cullen and Leliana both send some of their people to the valley, that should be enough. We might also be able to receive support from neighboring towns if I pull a few strings.”

Hesitant, the Inquisitor drums their fingers on the war table. “I suppose, but,” they say, but get cut off by Leliana.

“My scouts can spread the word for both help and invitations. We obviously can’t invite all of Thedas, but the more people in attendance, the more unifying a force the Inquisition will appear to be.”

Josephine claps her hands. “It’ll be fine! Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve put on anything this…spectacular. We’ll get started right away.” She’s already scribbling away on her clipboard, making a beeline for the hallway. “Don’t worry, Inquisitor, I’m good at planning parties,” she says over her shoulder as the doors close behind her. “This’ll be fun!”

The Inquisitor opens their mouth to say something, then slumps their shoulders, one hand still holding the edge of the war table for support. “It’s just,” they mumble, baffled, to Cullen and Leliana, “what the hell is a ‘barbecue’?”

 

\--

 

The door to Cullen’s room creaks open. “I’ve got word that we need to send more troops to Suledin Keep in the Lion,” he says without looking up, and then “Oh, sorry, Josephine” when her clipboard slides neatly under his nose. “Can I help with something?”

“I’ve been making calculations,” she says, tapping her quill on the clipboard, which is covered in scribbled notes and doodles of druffalo. “How many druffalo do you think we’ll need for the barbecue? Leliana doesn’t have a guest list yet and says she might not get one till the last minute – Orlesians just don’t RSVP to things, I suppose. So factoring in the number of troops you can send, plus a guesstimate of people in attendance…”

Cullen crunches a few numbers in his head, stops, thinks about it. Looks up at Josephine, then back down at the clipboard.

“All of them.”

There’s a pause.

“All of them?” Josephine ventures.

“All the druffalos.”

They look at each other. “I’ll…post a notice to the troops,” says Josephine, sounding less fazed by the idea of running druffalo onto the endangered species list than maybe she should be, and collects her clipboard. “Maybe extend our guest list cap, too.”

Cullen is not a man of numbers. Problem solving, yes – numbers, no.

 

\--

 

Skyhold’s alive with activity; tables and chairs line the ramparts and courtyards, and the whole place echoes with laughter, conversation and the smell of cooking meat. Sera bounces from table to crowded table, stealing grapes out of centerpieces and popping them into her cheeks like a huge chipmunk (the Inquisitor caught her sneaking nug droppings into centerpieces earlier, so this is, in their opinion, a marked improvement).

“All a bit stuffy, innit, Cassandra?” she garbles around her mouthful of grapes as Cassandra walks past. “All this fuss for a picnic. A picnic…quisition?”

“Reminds me of Pentaghast family reunions.” Cassandra stops, turning to Sera with a look of discomfort set in stone, seeming indifferent to Sera’s peals of laughter at her own joke. “Everyone is drunk and full of themselves.”

“Oh, so no room left for dinner, then? More for me.” Cassandra does laugh at that, and Sera cackles with gleeful abandon, head back to keep from losing her grapes.

The two of them look out over the ramparts at the commotion below. Dorian’s brilliant cloak flashes down at the cooking pits as he lights fires, body language suggesting that he’s not pleased with his job; Vivienne weaves through the crowd at the gates, stopping every few steps to greet someone. “You think if I spat a grape down there I could hit Vivi?” Sera asks, then spits one down without waiting for a reply, where it falls neatly into someone’s drink. “Balls, missed.”

“If you’re not careful you’re going to hit Josephine.” Josephine’s pacing by the gates, looking harried as she directs soldiers carrying druffalo towards the cooking pits.

Sera hums, thoughtful, resting her chin on her arms. “Good point,” she says, muffled by grapes. “That would be pretty funny. Twenty points if I get it in her hand?”

Before Cassandra can respond there’s a resounding crack from behind them, making Cassandra jump and Sera choke. “Coleslaw,” says Cole’s voice. “Should I worry?” Puzzled, Cassandra turns; Cole’s perched on the wall, looking almost as confused as her. “I’ve dug in everyone’s heads and I can’t figure out what it is besides food. It has my name.”

“Ugh, no, it’s Creepy.” Sera rounds on him, furious. “What are you on about? You made me drop all my ammo.”

“Coleslaw?” He peers at her, pale-eyed. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Cassandra says, sounding mildly alarmed. “I would hope that the shared name is a coincidence.”

Sera sneers. “S'like salad. Cabbage and carrots and stuff? Yechh. It’s gross.”

“It has my name,” Cole offers again.

“Maybe that’s what makes it so gross.” Sera turns back to the courtyard, notices a pile of grapes in front of her on the wall, turns back to Cole and shrieks indignantly when she realizes he’s gone.

The Iron Bull runs past down below, laughing, an entire cooked druffalo on his back and a KISS THE COOK apron hanging loosely from his neck; Dorian’s close behind him, spouting a continuous stream of insults and “Put that back!”s. Sera looks down at the gifted pile of grapes, lets out a disgusted noise to rival Cassandra, then pelts a grape at Dorian’s head with terrifying accuracy.

 

\--

 

“Well, that went well,” the Inquisitor tells Josephine after the barbecue ends and the last few stragglers have left; the two of them stand in the main hall, watching kitchen staff clear away the plates and used napkins left behind by careless guests.

“Better than that. I can’t tell you how good this was for our reputation, both as servants of the community and as a powerful organization. People will be speaking of this for a long, long time.”

“Oh, good.” The Inquisitor fidgets. “So can we agree to never do this again?”

Josephine lets out a sigh of relief so hard her body sags. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”


End file.
